


Picked Up By Those Behind

by chaletian



Series: Tock-Tick Goes the Universe [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Adventure, Derring-Do, F/M, Gen, History, Oral History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaletian/pseuds/chaletian
Summary: Five times Essie Malcolm’s daughter found evidence of the fate of the first Atlantis expedition as she attempted to stop the Genii from taking over the Pegasus galaxy. [Sequel to The Lost Expedition]





	Picked Up By Those Behind

> _We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again. You do not suppose, my lady, that if all of Archimedes had been hiding in the great library of Alexandria, we would be at a loss for a corkscrew?_ \- Arcadia (Tom Stoppard)

  
  


**~1~**

  
  
Nell Malcolm, a very junior military member of Major Dubois’s team, was neither scientist nor mathematician, but she was fairly confident that solar flares were not supposed to occur with the frequency with which they appeared to do. And yet, there she was, on a barren, empty desert planet with – of course – a damaged DHD, without any sign of her team and, given that one of the Atlantis cosmologists had been telling everyone in reach about some odd solar activity, a solar flare seemed the most likely explanation for this. She settled herself down by the stargate, and prepared to wait for rescue.  
  
Except that was boring, and it would take Atlantis at least a couple of hours to determine her location, and what was the Atlantis mission _about_ if not exploration? So she wrote a note, pinned it beneath a rock, and went a-wandering. It didn’t take long before she found a dilapidated wooden hut and evidence that the planet was not, after all, barren. Because inside the hut was a man.  
  
“Hi,” said Nell, keeping her hand on her pulse weapon. The man turned round. He was tall and thin, and was wearing homespun clothing. He narrowed bright blue eyes at her.  
  
“Who are you?” he demanded.  
  
“My name’s Nell,” she said. “I’m from…”  
  
“Whatever,” the man said. “Did you do this?” He nodded into the hut, and Nell realised that (a) it was full of scientific equipment and (b) it looked like someone had trashed the place. She frowned.  
  
“No, I just got here. What happened?”  
  
The man cast her a withering look. “Well, if I knew that, I would not have asked, would I? We use this as a research station, but someone has destroyed it – the daitch, too.”  
  
“What’s a daitch?” asked Nell, moving her pulser to one side and edging further into the hut.  
  
“You know – the device that controls the stargate,” said the man, his attention returning to the equipment.  
  
“Oh,” said Nell. He paid her no further attention, and she look around curiously. It was an odd juxtaposition: all the equipment showed obvious evidence of technological advancement, and yet his clothes were similar to what she’d seen in dozens of backwater planets whose development was on a par with Medieval earth.  
  
“What are you doing here?” asked the man suddenly, and she looked up, startled.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“This planet – why are you here?”  
  
“Oh. Um, it was an accident; I didn’t dial it. I reckon it was a so—”  
  
“Ah. Solar flare. Mm.”  
  
“Is that what you’re researching?” asked Nell, but the man, who eventually got round to introducing himself as Toran, shook his head.  
  
“No, it’s—something else.” He darted a suspicious glance at her. “You’re not Genii?”  
  
“Nope. Why? Don’t you like the Genii?”  
  
He shrugged. “Not especially.” He noticed her expression. “That surprises you?”  
  
“They saved everyone from the Wraith,” Nell pointed out. “That sort of thing tends to endear people.”  
  
“Tales of their prowess are exaggerated,” said Toran. “The way my people tell it, had the Genii not been given aid, they would have exploded themselves in their efforts to destroy the Wraith.”  
  
“Huh,” said Nell. “Who knew?”  
  


oOo

  
  
Apparently there wasn’t much else to be done in the hut (“research station” Toran insisted) and they made their way back towards the stargate.  
  
“My team will come for me,” Nell told Toran. It’ll take an hour or two, and longer to fix the DHD – what we call the daitch, I mean. Till then, we might as well kick back and enjoy the desert planet.”  
  
“My people, too, will come. Also, you cannot conclude that this is a ‘desert planet’.” Toran said. “We’re on one part of one landmass. For all you know, this may be the only desert in a planet that is green and fertile.”  
  
Nell cocked her head. “True. Is it?”  
  
“No. But that is hardly the point.”  
  
“Meh,” said Nell. Toran sneered at her, she sneered back, and they settled into an amicable pattern of bickering whilst they awaited rescue. Nell learnt that Toran was from a people known as the Shadow Traders – “we trade when we have to,” he said briefly – and Toran learnt that Nell was from Atlantis, the City of the Ancestors.  
  
“Do not expect me to bow and scrape,” said Toran. “The Ancestors were not gods.”  
  
“Well, duh,” said Nell.  
  
“Any sufficiently advanced technology appears to be the work of magical powers,” said Toran. “My people know that.”  
  
“Well, so do mine. There’s even some kind of rule about it,” said Nell.  
  
Conversation languished somewhat after that. “I would have anticipated rescue by now,” said Toran eventually.  
  
“Me too,” said Nell.  
  
“Would you like to play a game?”  
  
Nell looked suspicious. “Is this gonna end up with me naked except for my boots and my dog tags?” she said. Toran pulled a face.  
  
“Ugh. No.” He took a stick, and drew in a rectangle in the sand, with two circles at the bottom two corners. “That’s the delorn,” he explained. “It’s a transporter that travels through time. You go back and decide what you’d change, and then the other person goes forward and says what would have been changed by your action. It’s fun,” he added. “We play this all the time as children.”  
  
“Okaaay,” said Nell. “Guess it’s better than just sitting here. You go first.”  
  
Toran made a rumbly sound, only to break off as Nell burst out laughing. “OK, _what_ was _that_?!” she demanded.  
  
“It’s the flux capacitor,” he said irritably. “It’s what makes it travel in time. Be quiet!” He rumbled again. “I go back four hours, when you are preparing to depart for this planet. Whilst you are not looking, I ‘accidentally’ tip Latarian sand mites down the back of your neck and you are incapacitated and cannot travel.” He smirked. She glared at him.  
  
“Oh. Nice. Fine. Um, OK. I go forward…” she stopped as Toran held up a hand. “What?”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “You have to make the flux capacitor noise. It’s part of the game.” His tone implied the unspoken “duh”. Nell heaved a sigh.  
  
“Fine!” She rumbled, cocked a querying eyebrow, then carried on. “So, I go forward two weeks. Me and my team visit the land of the Shadow Traders,” and she grinned happily at him, “and express our _deep_ sadness that the random guy known as Toran is now forever lost, due to being stranded on a _desert_ planet with no companions, where, unable to save himself, he gradually died of thirst and exposure.”  
  
Toran curled his lip. “Your kindness truly does your people credit,” he said, and his eyes narrowed. “My turn.”  
  
After several rounds of delorn, during the course of which they visited mayhem and despair on each other and various anonymous nemeses, they were rescued almost simultaneously by their respective teams and that, thought Nell, was that. And so it was, until the next time.

  


**~2~**

  
  
The second time Nell Malcolm met Toran, they were both a little older, and their paths crossed on a busy market planet. Nell was with her father, Meredith Gaskell; the trip to the market was her attempt to get him to pay attention to life once again following her mother’s death. She saw familiar blue eyes through the crowd, and ran forward, punching Toran on the arm in happy greeting, her excitement at seeing him again out of all proportion.  
  
“Ow,” said Toran.  
  
“Oh my god!” said Nell. “I didn’t think I’d see you again!”  
  
“I had high hopes,” said Toran.  
  
“Wait – let me introduce you to my dad,” said Nell, ignoring him. “Dad, this is Toran. Remember I told you about the douche on the desert planet?”  
  
“Mm,” said Meredith, nodding vaguely, and wandering off.  
  
“It was not a desert planet,” said Toran. “What is wrong with your father?”  
  
“Nothing’s wrong!” retorted Nell, eyes flashing dangerously. “It’s a bit difficult right now. My mother just died,” she said.  
  
“I am sorry,” said Toran stiffly. Nell shrugged.  
  
"Yeah.” They stood silently for a moment, neither sure what to say. The awkwardness was broken when a man pushing through the crowd bumped into Toran. They broke apart, apologised, when something seemed to catch Toran’s eye.  
  
“I am Toran,” he said, and extended his right hand, the smooth linen of his tunic sliding back slightly to reveal a tattoo on the inside of his forearm. Nell looked at it curiously. It had a small, filled circle in the centre, with nine concentric rings around it, each ring with another small, filled circle on it.  
  
“I am Beck,” said the other man, mirroring the action. He, too, had a tattoo, almost identical to Toran’s, though it was on the outside of his forearm, and the circles were in different places on the rings. Beck was older than Toran by a good number of years, with brown hair and eyes, and a sharply angled chin.  
  
The two men clasped hands, bowed slightly, and parted. Nell watched Beck continue on his way, then turned back to Toran.  
  
“Who was that?”  
  
“Apparently, a man called Beck,” replied Toran.  
  
“Did you know him?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“What’s with the tattoos?”  
  
“It is the symbol of my people.”  
  
"Right. What does it mean?”  
  
“You ask a good many questions, Nell Malcolm.”  
  
“My parents brought me up to be curious. What does the tattoo mean?”  
  
Toran sighed, and led her to one side of the main thoroughfare. “It shows us where we came from. We are explorers, and our people have spread to many places throughout the galaxy. The symbol shows that we are all one. We are as brothers.”  
  
“Huh,” said Nell. “Cool. Hey, wanna play delorn again?”  
  
“I cannot,” replied Toran. “I should not have stayed here as long as I have.” He nodded subtly towards one of the many Genii officers in the crowd. “The Genii,” he explained drily, “are not our greateat fans. I imagine that Beck, too, was attempting to evade their notice.”  
  
Nell frowned. “How come? Why’d the Genii hate you? I mean, I know they’re a whole lot less keen on _us_ these days, but you guys are just…” She broke off and flushed slightly, aware that her comments were less than diplomatic, but Toran suddenly grinned, teeth flashing white in his tanned face. He was, Nell thought distantly, not actually that bad looking.  
  
“Well, we seem to be poor country folk,” he said, “but looks can be deceptive.” He sobered again just as suddenly. “The Genii know what we’re capable of, and they know what we believe in. Some of us lived in their communities,” he added, and Nell’s eyebrows shot up.  
  
“Really? I didn’t know that!”  
  
He shrugged. “No reason you should. My family were among them, though my parents chose to leave the Genii homeworld when I young. Even then, they were uncomfortable with the government – and with cause. Did you hear about Latira?”  
  
“Of course. The Genii colonised it – what? five years ago? But that was the only one. Actually,” she added, “I was sorta surprised. I didn’t think they’d stop.”  
  
Toran pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Neither did we. I do not know – perhaps they were merely testing the ground. But we heard last month that they have taken the planets of the Undari and the Talatians. And we do not think they will stop there.”  
  
Nell looked at him, troubled. “This is gonna be big, isn’t it?” she said, and Toran nodded.  
  
“Very, I fear.” His attention was suddenly caught by a movement in the crowd, and Nell turned her head to see two Genii officers converging on them.  
  
“Go!” she said, pushing at Toran.  
  
He stared at her for a fraction of a second, blue eyes intense. “Be careful, Nell Malcolm,” he said.  
  
“I’m Atlantis,” she said blankly. “They won’t touch us.”  
  
He smiled wryly. “If only the rest of us were as lucky.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd, and Nell stood and stared as the Genii pushed past her.

  


**~3~**

  
  
“They call them the Brotherhood of the Nine Rings,” said Dr O’Driscoll, one of the social anthropologists on Atlantis, addressing a meeting of the military officers. He tapped on the conference table, and a picture of an arm with a tattoo of nine rings appeared. “They’ve been around for decades – centuries, even. According to the Genii, they’re something of a cult – they sometimes live in society, sometimes in their own enclaves. There are a number of different groups but apparently they use this tattoo to identify themselves to each other.”  
  
“They got a secret handshake too?” asked Major Fisher facetiously. “Sounds like the Pegasus equivalent of the Masons.”  
  
Caroline Mercer, the British diplomat who had been chosen as the leader of the Atlantis mission two years previously, leant back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Allit Tanner met with me earlier today,” she said, referring to one of the Genii senior ministers. “He says this ‘Brotherhood’ has been attacking Genii outposts and threatening the safety of their people. From what he says, it sounds like they’re some kind of local terrorist gr—”  
  
“That’s not true!” broke in Nell. The others looked at her in surprise.  
  
“Captain Malcolm?” asked Mercer, one eyebrow raised.  
  
“Um, I’ve met one. Of the ‘Brotherhood’. I don’t think he’s a terrorist. Or at least – I mean, you know that saying, right?”  
  
Mercer looked at her, bewildered. “Captain?”  
  
Nell shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “About one man’s terrorist being another man’s freedom fighter. Or whatever. What I’m trying to say is, I know that the guy I met wasn’t exactly friendly with the Genii, but he might have sort of a point, you know?”  
  
“Explain.”  
  
“Well, there _is_ that whole trying to colonise the galaxy thing,” said Nell sharply. “Let’s not kid ourselves that the Genii are everyone’s friendly neighbourhood pals. They’re powerful, and they’re ambitious, and if we think that they’re going to stop at five relatively underpopulated planets, I think we’re going to be disappointed.”  
  
“The Genii might not be a picture of sweetness and light, Captain, but they are the status quo in Pegasus and, I might add, our allies.”  
  
“Well, that’s open to debate,” murmured Captain Armstrong, then winced as Mercer glared at him. “Oh, come on, Caroline! You know what the Genii are like! The only reason we’re their allies is because they believe in keeping your enemies closer.”  
  
“He’s right,” put in Dubois. “They keep us on side to make sure we don’t provide an alternative focus to their influence in Pegasus.”  
  
“Influence that is growing unchecked,” said Nell, returning to her initial point. “If they’re left alone, where do you think they’ll stop? At the planets that don’t really have much of an internal government? At the planets which don’t have the technology to stop them? At Atlantis itself?”  
  
“We’re not here to interfere in Pegasus politics,” said Mercer.  
  
Nell stared at her. “Not here to interfere in Pegasus politics? Our very _presence_ interferes in Pegasus politics! Caroline, we’re not here as a science experiment. Atlantis is a colony of Earth. We have families and children who are making their lives here. _I_ have made my life here. If we’re not going to intervene, I think we need to reconsider just exactly what we think we’re doing here. The Genii are threatening Pegasus for everyone, and I don’t know about you, but I think it’s a bit embarrassing that the only people trying to do anything about are the Pegasus Masons. Or whatever they are.”  
  


oOo

  
  
“Thank you,” said Toran quietly, as Nell sat beside him on a narrow bench outside one of the Shadow Traders’ homes.  
  
She shrugged. “Hey, no skin off my nose.”  
  
He looked at her wryly. “No, of course. Getting your leader to meet with us. The people branded as terrorists by your allies, the Genii.”  
  
“Yeah, well, turns out no-one was that keen on the Genii, anyway,” said Nell nonchalantly. “And Pegasus is our home too.”  
  
“I can see that,” said Toran. “The Genii are very powerful, but with the support of Atlantis, I think we can find a way to stop them. And my people have one or two tricks up our sleeve,” he added with a lazy grin.  
  
“Speaking of your people,” said Nell, looking around at anything that wasn’t Toran’s smile or eyes or hands or, like, _ears_ , this is the Shadow Trader headquarters?”  
  
Toran laughed. “You could say. We do not… the ‘Shadow Trader’ name is just a label. So others can place us.”  
  
“What _are_ you called, then?” asked Nell.  
  
“We have no one name.”  
  
“Oh. Right.” There was a moment’s silence. “So, how long have you guys been on this planet? You said you lived on the Genii homeworld with your parents, right?”  
  
He nodded. “Yes. We left many years ago. My mother was a scientist. She worked at one of their universities, but the government controls are very strict, and the Genii have a… difficult relationship with my people.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m getting that. I mean, noticing. I still don’t _get_ it,” said Nell. “I don’t understand _why_ ,” she clarified at Toran’s quizzical expression.  
  
“We have many scientists and scholars,” he explained. “Throughout our history, we have had good minds and good wills. We believe in knowledge for its own sake. We believe in exploration. We also believe in freedom. The Genii have found us to be useful over the generations, and many of my people have welcomed belonging to a modern society. Until recently, there have always some of us on Genia. But now…” He trailed off, then nodded towards a young woman who stood talking to an older man, her expression anxious. “That is Lexia. That is her father, Stee. He was the curator at one of the biggest Genii museums until a month ago – their family has lived with the Genii since our first ancestors separated across the stars. But now the Genii do not want our sort, and they were in danger of arrest, so they fled. Their story is not uncommon. The Genii know that those truly of my people will not agree with their actions and will speak out.  
  
“Anyway,” he went on, his voice lighter, “my people have been here for two, maybe three generations. This village was mostly home to those of us we call the Meens, until about a generation ago, when the Genii became less tolerant.”  
  
“So, you do have some names in there!” exclaimed Nell, with a smile. “What’s the deal with the Meens?”  
  
“They are descended from those of the first ancestors who were warriors,” he explained. “As I said before, the first ancestors separated across the stars. But we are all…”  
  
“All brothers. Yeah. I get it.” Nell smiled and bumped his shoulder with her own. She looked around her curiously, and as chance would have it, a breeze blew aside the hanging decorations in the room behind her, so that metallic panels were revealed. Familiar metallic panels. Nell frowned, and went to investigate, peering at the panels.  
  
“Your house is a Gateship!” she announced, amazed.  
  
“A—what?”  
  
Nell waved a hand. “This room – it’s not a building, it’s a Gateship!”  
  
“Oh, you mean a puddlejumper? Yes, we have several. They have not worked for many years, but are used as homes. The stories say the first ancestors travelled in them. You call them something else?”  
  
“Gateships. There was one on Atlantis when we arrived. The Ancients – the Ancestors, I mean, the Pegasus Ancestors, not yours, built them. We’ve found a few more at various Ancient outposts. We might be able to fix them,” she offered.  
  
Toran raised a supercilious eyebrow. “Really? I can assure you, our engineers are some of the finest in the galaxy.”  
  
“Geez, OK. Suit yourself.” Nell rolled her eyes, then took a swipe at Toran’s shoulder. “Hey – look!” From one of the other houses, the ‘Brotherhood’ leader, whom Toran had introduced as Roan, emerged, followed by several of his advisors, Caroline Mercer, Colonel Herrick and Major Fisher. Nell caught the almost imperceptible nod that Fisher sent her way, and turned to Toran, grinning widely.  
  
“Saddle up, Toran of the names-are-for-pussies! Looks like we’re joining this fight!”

  
**~4~**  
  
“Are you sure this is the right place?” whispered Nell as they crept down a poorly lit corridor.  
  
“Yes,” replied Toran.  
  
“Only, it’s a museum,” said Nell.  
  
Toran paused for an instant, and raised a wry eyebrow. “As well you mentioned it,” he said. “The sign at the entrance provided no clue.”  
  
She sneered. “Ha. Give you a crucial wartime mission and suddenly you’re a comedian.”  
  
They continued creeping along until they reached an unmarked door tucked beneath a staircase. Toran pointed silently, and Nell nodded in agreement. She reached for the door handle and turned it gently, her expression registering surprise as it opened smoothly. They both slipped inside, and closed the door softly behind them. Ahead lay another corridor, even more dimly lit than the last, with a flight of stairs off to one side. The glow of artificial light rose from the room at the bottom of the stairs, and a voice could just about be heard.  
  
“Terfal,” mouthed Nell, and Toran nodded. Silently, they edged down the steps far enough that they could see what lay below: a large holding room, brightly lit, and commonplace for any museum. Given that this was the Genii Museum of Antiquities, one of the biggest in the entire Pegasus galaxy, there must be many such rooms. It was filled with rack upon rack of archive boxes; items belonging to or on loan to the museum that weren’t currently being exhibited. Towards the end of the room sat Ewin Terfal, his dumpy body leaning over something while he muttered away to himself, scrawling on a tablet monitor.  
  
“I thought this was supposed to be some sort of lab?” whispered Nell, as she and Toran hunkered down behind one of the racks of boxes closest to the stairs.  
  
“We thought so too. Terfal has been coming here for many years; he has been a dozen times in the last month alone. Our intelligence is convinced there is something he is using to make a weapon.”  
  
“A biological weapon,” clarified Nell.  
  
Torran nodded. “Something that can be directed specifically at your people and mine. Terfal has been developing it for some months; we’re not sure how it works.”  
  
“Maybe there’s some Ancient tech here, something he’s using to help him build it,” Nell suggested, and Torran nodded again.  
  
“I assume so.”  
  
They watched Terfal for a few moments longer. “So,” said Nell, “what do your people say? If we take him out here, is there anyone who can finish his work?”  
  
Torran shook his head. “No. He always works alone. Our spies say his notes are heavily encrypted, so even those would be of no use.” His face was sober and set. “According to the Genii intel we picked up on Versall last week, they’re planning on using this weapon at the Trigantine festival tomorrow. There’s a whole colony of Soffies there, who’ve had nothing to do with this.” Anger tinged his voice. “We must stop them, Nell! They mustn’t use this weapon.”  
  
Nell looked at him silently for a moment, then checked her watch. “His guard will be here in ten minutes,” she said. “If we’re going to do this, we do it now.”  
  
“You are sure it will work?”  
  
“We’re gonna find out,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her standard-issue pants and pulling out a slim black case. She flipped it open, and took out the hypospray. “He may be armed,” she said warningly, and Toran nodded, before edging down the far side of the shelves, following them down till he drew parallel with Terfal's desk. Nell followed suit, making her way down the other side of the room. As Terfal continued his work, hunched, muttering and oblivious, Nell and Toran exchanged a look across the width of the room, then, with a nod, moved in simultaneously. There was no fight, and precious little struggle: Terfal was a scientist without even a nod to physical prowess, and was not expecting any kind of attack. Nell pressed the syringe to his neck, and he slumped forward. “He should be out for a couple of hours,” she said, “and after that he shouldn’t remember a single thing.”  
  
“Good. Get his work,” ordered Toran, pulling the unconscious man back off the desk. Nell pulled off the small backpack she was wearing, and stuffed the monitor into it. Her hand hovered over the other object on the desk. It was like a metal book, half open, with a black screen. There was a museum sticker on it, faded and scuffed now, suggesting the book had been at the museum a long time. “Take that, too,” said Toran. He had pushed Terfal to the floor; Nell recognised the recovery position.  
  
“OK,” she said, and carefully closed the book. She was putting it in the backpack, when something caught her eye. An aged sticker, older than the museum one, was stuck to the bottom of the book. Its colours and design were barely distinguishable now, but it was still possible to make out a series of concentric rings, each with a solid circle attached: the mark of Toran's mysterious 'Brotherhood'. “Hey,” she said, nudging his arm, “check it out! This must've belonged to someone you...” She stopped as Toran suddenly grabbed her arm and started hustling her towards the stairs.  
  
“Someone's coming,” he said tersely, and Nell checked her watch.  
  
“They're a couple minutes early,” she said, pulling on the backpack as they ran up the stairs and back along the darkened corridor to the door that led to the public areas of the museum, where Toran detached the tiny camera that connected to his mobcomm.  
  
“They've gone that way,” said Toran, nodding down the hallway.  
  
“OK, then,” said Nell, heading in the opposite direction, Toran at her heels. They hadn't gone more than a hundred yards when suddenly brilliant lights flared, and the two intruders came to a sudden halt, half-blinded by the light.  
  
“Now, what do we have h...” The voice was recognisable as belonging to Massi Corda, one of the Genii's go-to guys, a man whose path Nell and Toran had crossed on more than one occasion, and they didn't wait for him to continue before turning and haring back down the corridor, trying to ignore the sounds of pursuit.  
  
“Great. Now what?” demanded Nell, a little breathlessly, skidding round a corner. “They'll have the entrances covered. Roof won't help us.”  
  
“Back to the store rooms,” said Toran. “Stee says they were built with separate exits. Not used in years, but currently it is our only option.”  
  
“Whatever works,” said Nell. There were men directly behind them now, pulse weapons drawn, and Nell saw Toran wince as one shot came too close for comfort. They turned another corner as a blazing pain seared through Nell's right side, and tumbled through the same door they had used before, Toran scrabbling through his pockets for a flexible explosive that would effectively seal the door.  
  
“The store rooms should lead to riverside exits,” said Toran, running back down the corridor, and taking the stairs three at a time. “Hurry; it won’t take them long to—Nell? What is wrong?”  
  
“Zigged where I shoulda zagged,” said Nell, clutching her side and stumbling down the stairs behind him. “Frack!” Red bled through her fingers where they pressed against the wound, and it was only with effort that she kept upright.  
  
“We cannot stop,” said Toran urgently, putting an arm around her waist to hurry her along. “I think the exit must be at the end of the room.” They stumbled down the wide central aisle, past Terfal’s body where it still lay unconscious on the floor, until they reached the end of the room, where Toran left Nell propped up against a stack as he investigated the dark recess of the far corner.  
  
“Anytime soon!” hissed Nell, shifting uncomfortably, all to aware of the noise that indicated Massi Corda and his men were determined to force their way into the room.  
  
“Got it!” Toran reappeared, backlit by a narrow path of moonlight. “If we can make it down to the Karnistrass, we should be safe. Lean on me.”  
  
“My hero,” replied Nell wryly, then drew in a sharp breath as they started moving. Toran looked down at her, and grinned, the expression so unusual Nell missed a step.  
  
“That is my constant aim,” he said, and closed the museum side door behind them as Massi Corda clattered down the stairs. “Come, Nell. I will keep you safe.”

**~5~**  
  
The clearing is warm from the flaming torches and loud from singing and dancing: a cocoon of celebration and revelry in the midst of dark woods.  
  
“It was a good treaty,” said Caroline Mercer, and only the most alert ear would detect the effect of alcohol on her usual clipped tones.  
  
“A damn good treaty,” agreed Dubois, raising a cup to toast. “Good work, Caro, Roan, everyone.”  
  
“Well,” said Caroline, contemplating the bottom of the her cup. “It’s not like the Genii are going to back down completely. There’s going to be trouble. But for the time being, they’ve gone off to lick their wounds.”  
  
“We have done well,” said Roan, and everyone drank to it.  
  


oOo

  
  
“This is nice,” said Nell fuzzily, as she and Toran sat together under one of the big linmus trees.  
  
“Very Moon of Endor,” agreed Toran, draping an arm across her shoulders.  
  
“Wha’s that?”  
  
“Children’s stories. After the rebels defeat the empire for the last time, they have a… thing. This sort of thing,” and he waved his arm to encompass the clearing, “to celebrate, and everyone gets drunk and happy and Han and Leia declare…” He broke off suddenly, and Nell twisted round to face him.  
  
“Declare what?”  
  
“Nothing,” said Toran, looking away.  
  
“Huh,” said Nell, and settled back down. “So, what empire were they defeating?”  
  
“The empire empire. I dunno. They were evil, and the emperor was evil, and Darth Vader was sort of evil but not quite.”  
  
“That’s a stupid name.”  
  
“Yeah. So, the empire took over the republic, and then the rebels – no, wait, there’s the Jet-eye. They’re all “feel the force” but I’m not sure what the force is, it just makes them all powerful. But they don’t come in till later. But the rebels are trying to stop the empire and things happens, and then they fight with lightsabers, which are sort of swords with lasers.”  
  
Nell was silent for a bit. “My mother always used to say that most stories have cultural significance and, um, relate to people’s history and stuff. D’you think that’s really about your first ancestors? They were rebels who fought an evil empire?”  
  
Toran raised an eyebrow, gaining a little sobriety in derision. “Do I think the First Ancestors fought an evil empire with lightsabers and the Jet-eye Force? Not really.”  
  
“Whatever. So who were Han and Leia?”  
  
“Leia was a Jet-eye princess, only she didn’t know it. She was a politician, and she teamed up with Luke Skywalker, who turned out to be her brother. Han was a mercenary. In some stories he’s amazing, and in others he’s stupid and obsessed with flying his ship, but they’re still good stories. He and Leia fall in love, only Han thinks she loves Luke, because he doesn’t know they’re brother and sister.”  
  
“That sounds like Greek myths or something,” said Nell sleepily. “Mom would’ve loved it. She’d’ve loved _this_. She always thought the Genii were hinky.”  
  
They sat together for a while longer, then the strains of music reached them, and Toran jumped up, pulling Nell with him.  
  
“They’re playing the songs of the First Ancestors,” he said. “Come on.”  
  
Singing they were, with instruments that resembled Earth’s guitars, while others, both from Atlantis and the Brotherhood danced along.  
  
“Well, if they freed me from that prison,” sang Toran, as he swung Nell around in time with everyone else, “if that railroad were mine, I bet I’d move it on a little further down the line.” Liquor was flowing, and everyone was laughing and dancing by now, while the Brotherhood sang their songs, and Toran and Nell swayed to the music.  
  
And in a corner, Meredith Gaskell, who was pleasantly drunk, lifted his head, frowning as a tiny shard of memory appeared. Across the clearing came music and light, and he watched as his daughter danced with one of the Brotherhood – what was his name? – Toran, that was it. And they were singing, singing their own songs, but he knew those words, and he listened as they drifted across - _And I’d let that lonesome whistle, blow my blues away…_ \- and he _knew_ them. He’d heard them before, a gruff voice, something Essie had played for him, something old, very old.  
  
He staggered to his feet, to find someone, to tell them, because it means something, and he can’t work out what because he’s had just that bit too much to drink, but there’s laughing and singing and someone patting him on the back, and then he’s on a shuttle heading back for Atlantis, with a song ringing in his ears.  
  


oOo

  
  
“Han told Leia he loved her,” said Toran, and Nell smiled up at him.  
  
“Do you love me, Toran?”  
  
He leaned down, kissed her, smiled. “You know I do.”  
  
Nell grinned, then kissed him back. “Yeah. I know.”  
  
They danced, as a new song began.  
  
_Yes, they'll all come to see me  
In the shade of the old oak tree,  
As they lay me 'neath the green, green grass of home._  
  


oOo

  
  
And in the morning, Meredith Gaskell, knocked on the door of Atlantis’s resident historian, and said, “Peter, I think I’ve found something that’ll interest you.”  
  
THE END


End file.
